not a good look on you, Hermione
by caandle
Summary: When Ron accidentally breaks Hermione's heart, she starts to make a lot of mistakes. Getting embarrassingly plastered on Christmas night, and almost losing her job are just the first of many. Draco Malfoy, however, turns out not to be one.
1. Chapter 1: headlines

It burns the back of her throat as she knocks the firewhiskey back and she mulls how adequate the name is with an empty, unflattering snort. Hermione drags her finger around the rim of the glass, the epitome of the cliché lonely women alone at the bar, drinking away her sorrows. War heroine Hermione Granger alone in the middle of a dingy wizarding pub on Christmas night – a headline already begging to be on the front page of any of the various gossip magazines that had been trying to document and pick apart her life since after the War.

She's scowling when she waves to the bartender who refills her glass, and then again when she quickly inhales it. The burning sensation dulls the more she drinks, turning into a pleasant warmth pooling in her belly. Her body relaxes as the alcohol courses through her, further numbing the rage curled up in the back of her mind.

She's furious.

And can't do anything about it.

They aren't together – never had been, if she was honest – but it still _hurt_. It hurt more than she thought it should've, really, considering what she had been through throughout her childhood. All those years of fighting against Voldemort, all the soul-crushing fear, the _hiding._ The mourning. Hermione quickly took another swing of firewhiskey, welcoming the feeling of it rushing down her throat. Anything to distract her from _that_ spiral.

That particular road was difficult to get out of sober, let alone drunk.

She can still see the scene as if had been burned to the backs of her eyelids – Ron, grinning like an idiot (the way she loved), hand resting on the back of a woman who she didn't recognise. Introducing her to the Weasley family, who was smiling at her and giving her within the usual, warm Weasley welcome. A sight difficult to swallow. She felt pathetic, looking in through the window of the Burrow, her heart aching. The present in her hands fell, landing on the ground with a resounding _crack,_ although not as loud as the sound of her apparating away in her haste. To get away.

Although nobody has seen her, they must've heard her. She can already see what happened after she escaped – Harry rushing out with hand in hand, Arthur and the rest of the Weasley children quickly following to investigate. Old war habits die hard. The bartender refills her glass with magic and it's gone just as quick. Now, as she thinks on it, drunk and nursing her heart as much as she is her alcohol, Hermione is grateful she had been late. She wouldn't know what she would've done if she had arrived when she was supposed to. Already being in the house, soaking in the comfort and warmth that naturally exudes from the Weasleys', to having her heart broken by Ron so publicly. She shudders at the thought. Better alone than in front of Harry, or – _Merlin forbid_ , Molly Weasley.

In front of Ron.

Hermione motions to the bartender, ready to further drink herself into her sorrows and drown in it. He only shakes his head, prying the glass from her hands, ignoring her slurred protests.

 _War heroine HERMIONE GRANGER being CUT OFF in a dingy wizarding pub on CHRISTMAS Night –Exclusive pictures and Intel._

Rita Skeeter would be shaking with excitement to see her right now, Hermione was certain of it. The rage simmers down, cooling and transforming into a sense of longing and helplessness that slithers its way around her heart. The rage was never hers to have – she had no right to be angry over something that never really existed in the first place. Hermione felt like a fool. She always put herself to a higher standard, that she was smarter than _this._ The anger returns, now, but for a different reason entirely.

She was Hermione Granger and she would _not_ be bested by a broken heart. She'd been through too much, seen too much, and _felt_ too much to let herself spiral down. Although, she realised, it was a little too late about that considering the alcohol flowing through her veins. At least she hasn't cried yet. Regardless, she would let it bother her no more. Tonight, she'd use alcohol to flush away her misery and tomorrow, she would be as if nothing had happened, armed with multiple Sober Up potions and beauty charms. She could do it.

Someone slides into the stool next to her, shoulders lightly brushing against hers, as they get the bartenders attention. Hermione doesn't glance at whoever is, and continues to stare blankly at her empty hands.

"You look sloshed, Granger." The voice next to her drawls, the words slightly dragging at her name. Hermione tenses, recognising the voice immediately despite her inebriated state and how many years since she'd last heard it.  
"Malfoy."

"The Golden Girl remembers me. I'm honoured." Hermione twists, pointed glare and insulting retorts at the ready when she falters at the sight of him. Malfoy looks like he hasn't slept in days with the dark circles protruding under his bloodshot eyes. His skin was unhealthily pale, drawn, and gaunt. He looks haunted. Worse than he looked four years ago, fresh out of Azkaban for his trial. "What," Malfoy smirks but it's only a shell of what it used to be, "struck speechless by handsome looks?" He takes a swing of his firewhiskey, eyes cold and dead.

"You wish, Malfoy." is all she can get out, internally wincing at the pronounced slur to her words.

"Definitely sloshed, then." Malfoy looks rather pissed himself and the glass in his hand is clearly not his first – which, she assumes, is the only reason that he's talking to her.

The alcohol in her system is certainly the only reason why she's responding.

"S-Sod off you _wanker_."  
He ignores her. "Now, why would the Golden Girl, the one and only Hermione Granger, part of the infamous trio be drunk and alone at a pub? On Christmas, might I add."

"Mind your... your own business _Malfoy_." It takes her an embarrassing amount of time to spit it out, her head fuzzy and clouded. _Merlin_ , if she remembered any of this in the morning, she'd never live it down.

A grimy hand slams down on the counter between them. An uncomfortably warm body is pressed against her side, reeking of booze and body odour. "Trouble, pretty lady?" Hermione looks up, startled, and cringes. Cracked, yellow teeth grin at her, breath reeking impossibly more so, as beady eyes look at her lecherously. The sight – and smell – makes her shudder, hand fumbling for her wand. _Too slow, get off me, too slow, get off me._

Her limbs are slow and sluggish, which amplifies the panic and disgust rising in her. Just as her fingers curl around her wand, the body is pushed off her roughly. "Bugger off, you bloody pervert." Malfoy's tone is low and dangerous, a warning, but the man ignores it.

"You wannnna fuckin' go kid?" The wizard starts, puffing up his chest, face going redder. Hermione can only stare, shocked, as Malfoy presses the tip of his wand into the man's thick neck in one solid, smooth motion. "I said," Malfoy growls, " _bugger off_."  
The creep looks like he's about to respond, but thinks better of it, pushing Malfoy's wand away and stalking off grumbling.

The bartender is watching them cautiously, eyes flickering between them, as Malfoy slides back into his seat. The blond gives him a nod, which seems to settle the man, who wanders off to the other side of the bar. "Uh," Hermione swallows thickly, finally finding her voice, "thanks."

Malfoy looks almost as uncomfortable as she feels, shrugging off her words. "The guy stunk. Was ruining my drink." He supplies and Hermione nods slowly, accepting it. He's silent now and Hermione goes back to watching her hands. A few minutes pass. It's rather awkward now, as she fakes a cough, shifting slightly in her seat. Another headline title flashes through her mind: _HEROINE HERMIONE GRANGER sitting with EX-DEATH EATER DRACO MALFOY at a dingy wizarding pub on Christmas Night!_ She snorts unflatteringly at the thought, garnering the attention of the man next to her. He raises a blonde brow at her and she shrugs as a response. Malfoy takes another swing of his firewhiskey.

"Well," he murmurs as he stands up, "better get going. It's Christmas after all." He eyes her, clearing his throat. "You should get home, too. Bet Potter and Weasley are wondering where you've run off to." Hermione flinches at his words – _God,_ Harry! He must be worried sick, since she hadn't turned up – and gets up quickly, startling Malfoy. Her head buzzes and her knees grow weak, faltering. A hand is holding her elbow, steadying her, and her skin burns at the contact. He winces but holds on until she's stopped wobbling.

"Er, thanks." She slurs, uncomfortable with thanking Draco Malfoy twice in the same night.

He merely nods stiffly and the awkward feeling creeps back in. Hermione wonders what Ron would say, if he saw her here, plastered and in the company of one of the men he hates the most. She quickly stomps the thought out. She can feel eyes burning into the back of her head and when she turns, beady eyes are watching her. Her muscles tense, getting increasingly uncomfortable about the way the creep from earlier is looking at her. She wants to leave. Hermione goes to do just that when she's startled by an arm snaking around her waist, holding her up. Swallowing a slightly strangled noise in the back of her throat, she briefly struggles, watching Malfoy suspiciously but his grip doesn't lighten. If anything, it tightens. She cranes her neck to look at Malfoy, who's lips are tugging into a frown as he glares at the man. "Damned pervert." He mutters under his breath, so quietly that she has to strain her ears to hear.

Malfoy ignores her attempts to free herself, glancing behind them in the corner of his eye, and tugs her along across the pub. "What are you doing - _Malfoy_ , let _go_ off me!" He ignores her, again, and doesn't let go until they're outside in the bitter cold even when she scratches at his arm. She's still protesting, cheeks stinging from the wind, crossing her arms as intimidatingly as she can despite being completely plastered and redder than Weasley's hair. "You - _you!_ How dare -"

"-He was obviously going to follow you, you daft woman!" Mafoy's frowning at her irritably as he rubs the spot she had clawed.

 _Oh._ She blinks rapidly, "Oh. I see. Uh..." He raises a hand to interrupt her and she's even more grateful now that she doesn't have to apologise to him for the _third time tonight_. The entire scene is comical, honestly, and who knows what her friends would say if they saw her right now. With Draco Malfoy.

They stare at each other awkwardly and Hermione suddenly wants to crawl into a hole and lie in it. Gosh, she's never been more _embarrassed_ in her life. "Right," she clears her throat, "well I'm just gonna... get going, then." Malfoy doesn't say anything and he's still bloody staring at her, so she moves to apparate when a warm hand tugs at her elbow.

" _What_?" She twists, voice a little shrill. What on earth does he want _now_?

"Never drink Granger. It makes you into a bloody idiot." He sneers at her, grip tightening. Hermione bristles, cheeks flaring up a furious red. " _What?!"_  
He rolls his eyes, "Where do you live?" Hermione opens her mouth and then closes it, before opening it again like a gaping fish.

"Excuse me?" She splutters out.

Malfoy's getting more irritated by the second and her temper flares at his scowl. "You can barely stand, let alone apparate by yourself. You'll splinch yourself and I'd rather not have to explain to Weasley why his girlfriend lost her arm."  
Her temper dies immediately at that, eyes turning downcast as she mutters " _I'm not his girlfriend"_ bitterly before she can hold her tongue. Malfoy watches her for a couple of seconds, taking in her inebriated swaying and dejected slump. Something flashes behind his eyes.

"Where do you live?" He repeats. Hermione's too tired to argue even though it's against her better judgment to tell _Draco Malfoy_ where she lives – _Merlin,_ she really was plastered wasn't she – so she murmurs her address. Malfoy only nods stiffly, pulling her closer towards him - and then suddenly her insides are twisting, turning, the world flickering in and out of existence. They've arrived at her small, Muggle flat within seconds and Hermione quickly goes green, leaning over the railing of her porch, gagging. A hand rubs circles against her back and doesn't stop until she's able to recollect herself. Malfoy looks a little green himself but he still holds onto her, keeping her steady and standing. Hermione feels a twinge of shame and stuffs it down before it can grow.

"Didn't expect my night to end like this." He huffs as he watches her fumble with her keys. Hermione silently agrees. Malfoy lets out an irritated sigh and snatches the keys out of her hands, silencing her cry with a sharp look. Once unlocked, his arm is wrapped around her waist again, as the other tosses her keys onto the table next to the door. They stumble to her living room where he dumps her onto the couch. "I wouldn't recommend getting drunk, Granger. It's not a good look on you." Malfoy drags a hand over his face and disappears out the door before she can even think of saying something back.

 _EX-DEATH EATER DRACO MALFOY TAKING HERMIONE GRANGER HOME - NEW LOVE BLOSSOMING BETWEEN TWO STAR-CROSSED LOVERS OR PURE LUST?_

Merlin, Rita Skeeter would be drooling.

 ** _A/N:_**

Hi everyone!

This fic was what brought me out of my (nearly year long) writer's block, so it's very special to me. I hope you enjoy it! It's also being cross-posted onto AO3 (under the same username), and currently has three more chapters than here. Over the next couple of days, I'll upload the following chapters so everything is updated.

I also have a tumblr! I post little bits n bobs, small updates on stories (like this one!), excerpts from said stories, and other random little bits of writing that didn't make it into a fully fleshed out fic! Find me at **_caandleworks_**

If you'd just like to chat, I'm on there all the time! Feel free to check it out! :)


	2. Chapter 2: observant Harry

Her head is screaming when she wakes up. It takes her a few minutes to even attempt to get up, breathing in and out through her nose, concentrating on the action of breathing to distract her from the sharp, throbbing pulse. When Hermione finally gathers to the courage to push herself up, a wave of dizziness takes over and she flops back onto her couch. Her neck is aching – no doubt from sleeping on her couch last night – and rubbing it doesn't help.

She stumbles over to her small bathroom once the wave passes, wincing at her pounding head and trying to ignore the pitiful lurch of her upset stomach. Balancing herself on the edges of her sink with her hand, Hermione fishes for her Sober Up potions in the cabinet when she catches sight of herself in the mirror.

She looks wretched.

There are smudges of black under her eyes from the light coat of mascara she'd had on, her hair is quite literally a frizzy nest (even more so than its usual mess), and her skin is sickly pale. Hermione averts her eyes immediately. A sigh of relief escapes her when her fingers closed around the little vial that she'd be searching for and downs it quickly and then another because the amount of liquid wasn't enough for one dose. The magic of the potion is doing her wonders as the effects are already alleviating her painful migraine and upset stomach. Hermione rests her head against the cool surface of her sink as she waits for the potion to finish its job on the rest of her body. Thank Merlin for magic.

Now that's she's feeling a bit more like herself and less like death, the events of last night crash into her. "Oh gosh." She groans, mortified. She acted like an idiot in front of her old school enemy Draco bloody Malfoy – although they technically are enemies no longer, it's still embarrassing. She'd gotten plastered, made a complete fool of herself, and then he had to drag her home! Hermione would never be able to show her face again.

Although, thinking on it now, it was rather odd. Why had he taken her home? Or warded off that horrid creep? It wasn't like he had any debt to repay her for since she'd certainly not seen him since the – oh. The trial then? Harry and she had only been doing what was right and that had been years ago. He'd even said thank you a few weeks after the trial when they bumped into each other at the Ministry. Hermione couldn't believe her ears when he said it. She frowned, shifting her weight to the other leg. Was that it then? Malfoy just thinking that he still owed her? But that didn't answer for him taking her home – he was Malfoy for heaven's sake! He didn't just take muggle-born witches – especially Mudblood Hermione Granger – and made sure they got home safe. He may have changed but that type of prejudice doesn't get unlearnt over the minor time period of a few years. Hermione groaned in frustration. She had too many questions that would never get answers because she'd never see him again. It was probably best to not know, really. Finding them out would mean she'd have to see him again and that was the last thing she wanted.

A series of loud knocking interrupts her pity party and she scrambles up. "Er, just a minute!" She calls out, pulling her wand out of the back pocket of her jeans, waving it in front of her face to get rid of her smeared makeup. She dumps the empty potion bottles into her bin as she passes the kitchen on her way to the living room. Who on earth is knocking at her door at – she glances at the muggle clock hanging on her wall – at seven in the morning? The knocking hasn't stopped and its rather irritating the slight ache in her head. "Yes, yes, I'm coming! Gosh – Harry?"

Standing in her doorway is a rather disheveled looking Harry, whose green eyes flood with relief at the sight of her. "There you are Hermione! Thank Merlin, I was just about to blast down the door."  
"It's good that you didn't. Is something wrong?"

"You didn't show up at the Burrow last night," Harry starts, taking in her frazzled appearance with a small frown, "so I was worried. Er, we all were. I would've checked on you last night, but well..." Harry rubs his neck, looking awfully guilty.

"Oh, Harry, I'm fine." She shoots a smile, deciding not to mention the rather obvious love bites littering his throat, "I was just feeling a little ill, you see. I forgot to send an owl. Sorry." Hermione lies smoothly, picking at the waistband of her jeans. Guilt springs up when Harry grins down at her.  
"Quite alright, 'Mione. You do look a little pale, so it's probably best that you stayed home."

"You should take a look in the mirror," Hermione shoots him a sly look, "because you look rather worse for wear yourself." His cheeks tinge pink and his hand snaps up to cover his neck. Hermione only laughs, moving aside to let him in.

"It's too bad you missed the party Hermione," Harry tells her as he hangs his coat up on one of the hooks, "it was lively with everyone there. Just as it used to be with -" He falters, before collecting himself. "Luna's taken over the Quibbler, she told us last night. And I'm pretty sure Neville is planning to propose but I couldn't get it out of him just yet."

"Oh, that's fantastic! Neville and Luna make such a sweet couple." Hermione responds as they move into her kitchen. Harry sits at the counter while she busies herself with making tea. He thanks her warmly when she pushes a mug into his direction, sipping at her own.

"He also mentioned that he might apply for the new Herbology position that opened at Hogwarts now that's Professor Sprout's getting ready to retire."

"He'll get it for sure. Everybody knows there's almost nobody as good with plants than Neville." Harry continues to fill her in with all the news about their friends and work. They fall into their easy, light routine and after the night that she'd just had, Hermione was extremely grateful for a friend like Harry.

It only occurred to her, right when he started looking at her warily, that he was going to bring up Ron and his new partner. "Er, Ron's got himself a girlfriend. Can't believe he didn't tell me, really, until he introduced her to everyone."

Her heart gives a painful lurch and her fingers curl around her cup. "I see," she beings, wincing at how obvious the light tone in her voice is forced, "well that's great. Really great. Good for him."  
Harry's watching her, with that look he always has when he's trying to figure something out. Hermione meets his gaze evenly as she takes a sip of her tea. He opens his mouth but closes it, swallowing thickly, trying to think of the best way to say what's on his mind. She interrupts him before he can speak, "What's her name?"

"Her name?"

"Yes, Harry, her name." Hermione repeats, a little too stiff for her liking.

"Quinn." He supplies, still watching her closely. "Hermione, I've been meaning to ask for a while now, but are you okay?"

"Yes," she blinks at him, surprised, "I'm fine. Never better."

"While I'd love to believe that, 'Mione, but there are empty Sober Up vials in your bin and you almost never drink alcohol." Damn. Harry had always been observant. "And I doubt you'd forget to send us a notice when you aren't coming to the Burrow, considering everything we've been through." She winces, feeling rather guilty because ever since the war they always kept in touch if someone came up. Old war habits die hard, and the fear of someone going missing dies harder. She takes a gulp of her remaining tea.

"Hermione," Harry's voice has gone soft, "what happened? You can trust me, you know that." He starts again after a few seconds of her not responding, staring down at the dregs in her cup mutely. "Was it – Was it memories of the war?"

She shakes her head, sighing. "It wasn't that. It's Ron."

"Ron?" Harry echoes, brow knitting together in confusion before the realization hits him. "Oh. That was you apparating last night, wasn't it?" She sets the cup on the counter but doesn't let go. Probably best to hold onto something for support, if she was going to have this particular conversation. "I didn't realise you still -"

"I hid it rather well." Hermione interrupts, lips tugging into a sad smile. "We never really spoke about the time in the Chamber or when we were on the run. I guess we were all a little too busy, you see, to think about a relationship." Harry's still watching her carefully, tea abandoned in favour of giving her his full attention. "There was so much to do after the war, so much to-" She hesitates, throat closing up for a moment. Harry reaches out to put his hand on hers. "A year turned into four, and... and here we are."

"I'm sorry." Harry says. She waves him off.

"I'll be fine. It'll hurt for a while but I'll get over it. I – I don't think we'd work that great together anyway, Ron and I. If we were really supposed to be together, we would be by now. It's probably for the best." Harry only looks at her sadly. "Promise me you won't say anything. To him, or anyone. Even Ginny."  
He promises and raises his pinky to seal it. The action causes Hermione to smile, a genuine, foolishly fond smile, as she takes it.

Harry leaves an hour later, telling her he'd send over her Christmas presents by three o'clock tomorrow, hugging her tightly and pressing a kiss to her cheek, lingering in her doorway as if she'd ask him to stay. She didn't, knowing Ginny would be waiting for him, and so he left, with a warm, concerned smile. His absence, no longer a distraction, leads her back to last night, and she groans, leaning her head on the back of the front door. Absolutely mortified by her behavior in front of Malfoy. Her cheeks warm as she remembers the way Malfoy held her steady, and how he'd threatened that creep, and taken her home because she was so sloshed that she couldn't make it home by herself.

Absolutely humiliating.

At least, she reasoned, it was highly unlikely they'd ever see each other again. It had been four years since their paths had last crossed, and the chances that they'd start now were zero to none. Malfoy had certainly changed, though. He was still the same arrogant, sly prick but more mellow. Tempered. He certainly wouldn't have refrained from calling out her 'dirty blood', and definitely wouldn't have protected her from a perverted old wizard years ago. Let alone touch her. Even if he still thought that she was lesser because of her blood – because some things take a lot longer than four years to move on from – he'd at least had the decency to not say them and for that, she was grateful. The words no longer held power over her like they had done when she was a young girl but she still didn't like to hear them.

He looked rather ill if she was honest, thinking back to his appearance. He was skinnier than she remembered him and while he had always been rather pale, his skin looked sickly with the lack of colour . Malfoy certainly hadn't slept for weeks if his bloodshot eyes were to go anything by – Hermione scowls, annoyed at herself. It's none of her business what he looks like and whether he's been sleeping or not. Regardless of how he appeared to have changed and how he had helped her last night, they certainly weren't friends. Far from it. Hermione pushes any thought related to the wizard in the back of her mind as she moves around her flat to clean up her mess and takes a much-needed shower.

She doesn't think of Malfoy for the rest of the day.


End file.
